


Pair

by yeaka



Category: Sakigake!! Cromartie Koukou | Cromartie High School
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, POV Second Person, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hokuto and his lackey have a quick round in the bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pair

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is second person to conveniently cover up Hokuto’s lackey’s lack of known name. It’s also Cromartie porn. What? Why? I don’t even...
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Cromartie High School or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

You’re quiet as he slips his hand into yours; there’s nothing to say. The others barely notice, rarely do; the two of you fit in when you need to, but you’re apart, really, just the _two of you_ in this strange, delinquent world. Hokuto’s more eloquent and intelligent and subtle in his power, and you’re... you’re devoted just to _him_.

So you let him tug you out of the classroom and down the hall, attracting no more glances than usual. His white uniform stands out more than the way you hold hands. It’s unnecessary, really; you’d follow him to the ends of the Earth, tether or not, but maybe he just likes that reassurance of touch. He pulls you into the bathroom and into a stall, and he clicks the door shut, and it doesn’t matter if it’s still public, and school, and you’ll probably be loud. It’s a crazy school, anyway; who cares about noises in a bathroom when there’s a horse in the halls and Freddie and a gorilla playing Go? (Or were last time you checked.)

There’s no precursor. Isn’t usually. He’s bad at foreplay, or maybe just thinks you don’t want it, or maybe doesn’t care. He’s too quick to crave it, and you match his pace. He flattens you against the side of the stall with the toilet digging into the side of your leg and him heavy atop you. His legs are between yours, feet kicking yours apart, and his chest isn’t much compared to the rest of Cromartie’s brutes, but it’s broader than yours. He pins you to the white wall—you’re in the corner stall—and his hands cling to your sides, bunching up the fabric. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. 

He presses his lips to yours, chapped and chaste at first, deeper and wetter as you go. You tilt where he doesn’t so your noses won’t hit, and you open your mouth wider. You run your tongue along his lips, slowly tracing the seam; his comes out to play. It presses into yours, and then he’s slipping into your mouth, and he’s kissing you properly and claiming you and grinding your skull back into the wall. His crotch, tented already from his own daydreams, presses into yours and rubs. It doesn’t take you long to respond; you follow him for a reason. You like his body as much as his mind. His dick as much as his orders. You’d slip to your knees in a heartbeat and take it in your mouth if he wanted, but today, it seems your mouth is set aside for his tongue. His hands slip around to your fly and start to fiddle with the zipper.

You manage his just as quick, still kissing. His black silk boxers are so _soft_ and expensive—you almost feel bad pushing them down. But you know he wants it. When his cock bounces out, it’s hard and ripe in your hands, pulsing in response when you squeeze it. He moans into your mouth, nose flaring against your cheek. He grabs at your hips again, and one hand slides around to the back, dipping beneath the fabric. He cups your ass and clutches one cheek, kneading it lightly while you groan and suppress a whimper. Not manly. Have to keep up. He turns you to mush, sometimes, even if he’s silly and strange and not really your _friend_. He’s your _superior._ The thought makes you shiver. You suddenly want him to boss you around. 

He slips a finger between your cheeks and chuckles at what he finds: lingering moisture. You fingered yourself to the thought of him at lunch. Couldn’t help it. It’s boring at school. He sits right in front of you, and you can smell the fancy shampoo he uses on his long, sleek hair. It shimmers and begs you to run your hands through it. He parts your mouths long enough to tease, “My, my, aren’t we eager?” And you enjoy the lilt in his deep voice too much; he sounds like a porn star. 

He rubs your hole until he ordains to push his finger in, and then you’re grunting and clenching around it, murmuring a weak, “ _Hokuto_...” You clutch at his shoulder tighter, the other hand still closed around his cock; _God_ , he feels good...

He fingers you hard and kisses your cheek: a rare luxury you relish. He leans his cheek against yours and just shudders and waits while he fingers you and thrusts into your hand. You’re resisting the urge to give him a great handjob; you want him to come inside you. He won’t last long enough if you stroke him. He’s as horny as you are, most days. He shoves a second finger into you, ignoring your gasp, and he murmurs a crude, “I’m gunna fuck you,” like there’s any confusion.

Elated anyway, you mumble, “ _Yes, sir._ ” It’s a pretext that’s fun to say. He stretches you apart with two fingers and just the old, half-congealed lube. But you’ll make it. He’s fucked you raw before without making you bleed. Sometimes you think you’re just naturally built to take him. Other times, you think he’s gentle on purpose. He pulls his fingers out of you and leaves a slick trail up your ass. 

He grabs your hips tight and pants, “Get up.” So you jump to wrap your legs around him, letting him catch you. He wouldn’t be able to support your weight on his own, but he doesn’t have to. He just has to pin you to the wall. Your back digs into it, your legs spread and ready, pants rolled out of the way. You help him guide his stiff cock to your entrance, and you can feel it twitch in excitement. You want to pet it and tell it _soon_.

It’s inside you in a flash, just the head, and you gulp at the intrusion, puckered entrance fluttering around it. It feels strange, always does. Always bigger than you remember. But not unwelcome. Your body remembers all the good feelings. You squeeze once to earn a shaky breath, and you let him do the rest. He pistons in slowly, a little bit at a time, a centimeter out and two in. Your body struggles to take it, your channel flexing, but your walls want to suck it in. It’s warm and _alive_ and so much better than your thin fingers or unforgiving toys, always so inadequate, like anything next to _Hokuto_. You mutter his name against his skin and wrap your arms around his torso like hugging a teddy bear. A teddy bear that’s _fucking you._

Sooner or later, someone’s going to notice you’re not in class. The teachers never care. Well, no, someone will notice Hokuto. Not you; never you. It doesn’t matter. What’s school going to do for you, anyway? You’re just going to grow up at Hokuto’s side, and he’ll get a great position no matter what. His father will give him money and a job and they’ll filter down to you. You’ll cling to him, like you always do, and he’ll feed you scraps and reward you with his presence and eat just with you and talk just with you and fuck you against every surface and make you feel special and _good_ , so _good_. His dick shoves in the last little bit, fully sheathed inside your ass, and he jostles you with a test thrust to make sure, his balls slapping your ass. It feels _right_ when he’s inside you—you’re _complete_.

It’s uncomfortable, too. Stretches you open, scrapes your walls. The veins on his cock dig little indents into your insides. But then he shifts his angle a few times, and he hits that right spot, and you moan loudly and tell him, “Yeah, right there...”

And he likes making you _scream_ , so he hits that spot every time. He bounces you up and down the wall, setting in to fuck you _hard_ , not because he’s a monster but because he has no control and he likes the way you feel. His own noises say as much. He breathes hard against your cheek and rests his chin on your shoulder, his long hair brushing your face, and his hips drive into you over and over, half out and all in, chafing and beautiful. It’s an _honour_ to have his cock inside you.

He mumbles, “So tight...” And you feel proud and clench around him. It earns you a grunt and a particularly hard thrust: appreciation. 

You whisper, “You’re just so big, sir,” even though he’s probably just average. Big enough for you. Perfect. You wouldn’t change a thing about him. Maybe it’s good you both came here. You probably couldn’t have fucked like this in a private school. Here, no one cares, and the world is yours to play in. You’re panting in no time and out of breath and starting to sweat in your too-thick uniform; you wish you were at his house, naked on the floor, handcuffed to one bedpost and being driven into. Later, maybe. If you’re good. 

He moves back to kiss you again, and the intimacy is what really undoes you. You come with a cry against his lips, and his mouth muffles the sound, but it’s _his name_ you’re screaming, always is. You can feel Hokuto’s smirk. Half the reason he likes you is because you _love_ him. You know that devotion turns him on. So you feed him more and more, clutching to him so hard and spraying between you, forgetting that there’s nowhere for your cum to go but both of your uniforms. He barely seems to notice. He’s groaning as your ass convulses around him. You squeeze at him so hard, all pressure, and you kiss his cheek as you slip down in a dizzying spiral of stifling heat and adoration. 

He comes a few thrusts later, spilling into you. There’s no protection; you never use it. He’s your first, anyway, and you think you might be his. You’re all both of you have. Should probably still use protection. But you can’t bring yourself to bother, not with him, and you’re committed anyway, sure he is too...

He starts to sink to his knees, clumsily still supporting you, and you fall with him, until you’re a spent heap on the floor, half in his lap. He pulls out of you, wet and flagging. You lazily reach for the toilet paper and start cleaning up your mess, though his you’ll leave in you. 

He relaxes and lets you do the work, and he looks at you as if to say something _more_ , but it’s words neither of you are good at. So it hangs in the air, thick in the stench of sex.

You’re both vaguely clean again, but the smell is unmistakable. Your classmates probably won’t notice. Half of them reek from the sweat of fighting or a lack of baths, and Hokuto’s cologne covers most things. Hokuto’s first to get to his feet, and he pulls you up, too. 

You make your way out of the stall. The bathroom’s empty. Hokuto pulls a comb out of the pockets of his pants and fixes his hair, staring in the mirrors over the sink, making it perfect again, even though he always looks perfect.

He tugs you out by the hand, back into the real world, where you’re still _his_ , and in a way, he’s just _yours_.


End file.
